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tom-mcconePoems
all at once, things come crumbling together. a step in every direction, rightful empty dissolves to leave, in stationary hollow, itself: presented representation. no point left unscathed. the exact same moment the water started leaking down and out the walls. a series of equicardinal trackmarks in the snow. over the bridge we shift momenta. wheels turn. nerves coupling. a flood laps at my unfurling fingerprints. water rises like swallows nesting in the marsh of my throat. try as we might, turn of position, matched glance, precession after next, the swell silently engulfs the woodwork. blood curls through these beds, as beautiful as the water running over; waves distill through smaller wash. a larger scheme spreads its lips. the teeth play quotient to tree limbs. a schedule unwound. caught the sun with smooth hooks. everything changes from here, or stagnates at a shifting viewpoint. but, from this glowing angle, i could mistake you for ordinality or plain daylight. i could fall a little further down. instead, all translates in bold motion, binding fibers of dissolution, morning hues through the dark.
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Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 12:04 AM UTC
floodbite
all at once, things come crumbling together. a step in every direction, rightful empty dissolves to leave, in stationary hollow, itself: presented representation. no point left unscathed. the exact same moment the water started leaking down and out the walls. a series of equicardinal trackmarks in the snow. over the bridge we shift momenta. wheels turn. nerves coupling. a flood laps at my unfurling fingerprints. water rises like swallows nesting in the marsh of my throat. try as we might, turn of position, matched glance, precession after next, the swell silently engulfs the woodwork. blood curls through these beds, as beautiful as the water running over; waves distill through smaller wash. a larger scheme spreads its lips. the teeth play quotient to tree limbs. a schedule unwound. caught the sun with smooth hooks. everything changes from here, or stagnates at a shifting viewpoint. but, from this glowing angle, i could mistake you for ordinality or plain daylight. i could fall a little further down. instead, all translates in bold motion, binding fibers of dissolution, morning hues through the dark.
more nothing.
tom-mccone
Written by
tom-mccone
New Zealander
Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 12:04 AM UTC
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